birdieistheewordie

[birdieistheewordie]

pay attention to this so i have motivation to write the next chapter 🤗

lighting bugs and other ghosts | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 3

check out part one and part two if it floats ur boat :) thank you for reading! gimmie a reblog if you liked it or wanna help my ego <3 ______________________________________________________________

Maggie didn’t know how long it’d been. The music started to blur; her sketchbook was too heavy in her lap, her fingers were numb around the pencil, and her body felt like it was two steps behind. She blinked twice, harsh and deliberate, trying to bring herself back down. The room sharpened a little, but not enough to her liking. 

She tried to breathe, but it was too suffocating. Too hot, too much noise, too many bodies, too many thoughts thumping against the sides of her skull and squeezing her ribs. 

Maggie stood, slowly and carful not to draw attention. She slipped past the cushions, out the crooked door with the spray-painted “B13” that still gleamed like a threat. The night air was cool, damp, and clinging to her cheeks just enough to knock the air back into her lungs. She inhaled deeply, sharp and quiet as she wrapped her arms around her middle. The gravel crunched under her boots as she roamed, no idea where she was going, just away. 

She made it halfway back to the woods before she heard the door creak open behind her. 

“Maggie?”

She froze, stomach dropping for a reason she didn’t know. The voice was gentle, low, and familiar, and she knew who it was before turning around. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek, still glaring at the lake as she heard him jog to catch up. 

Soon enough, he was in her peripheral. His curls now loose, bandanna shoved into his back pocket, and eyes hazy. He swallows harshly, hand scratching the back of his neck, and if Maggie paid close enough attention, it’d be an anxious habit. “Hey,” his voice is light, like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said anything at all. “You alright?”

Maggie hesitated. Eddie knew she would. 

Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, eyes still focused on the dark and gentle ripples of the lake in the distance. “M’fine,” she said, but it didn’t come out how she wanted — too sharp to be convincing and too quiet to be deflected.

Eddie knew she was full of shit, and Maggie knew that Eddie knew she was full of shit.

Eddie didn’t move closer. He just tucked his hands in his pockets and stood beside her. “You don’t have to be”

That got her. 

She looked up at the sky, counting the stars in hopes of swallowing the lump of tears. “I just,” she exhaled, loud and heavy. The lump in her throat didn’t clear, her voice shaky and broken. “It’s loud. In there…in here.” She tapped her temple with two fingers, then her chest. “Couldn’t breathe”

Eddie just nodded like he understood. Like he’d felt the same pressure and deafening feeling that crawls up your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice gentler than Maggie’s heard it. “I get that.”

The breeze picked up, Maggie’s skin breaking out in goosebumps so prominent Eddie could see. He didn’t say anything when she wrapped her arms around herself, just untied the hoodie that was around his waist and passed it to her without hesitation. She looked at the fabric, then at him, and took it. He didn’t ask if she was cold or if she wanted it; he just saw her. 

The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled like cedar and weed as she pulled it over her head. Something about it made the suffocating thoughts a little less intense. Eddie swore there was something like a smile on her face. Not a big one, just something. 

“I dunno what’s wrong with me,” she said after a pause. “I should be okay now…should be over it.” There’s a vulnerability in her voice Eddie hadn’t heard before. Almost like a softness.

“Over what?”

She didn’t answer.

Eddie didn’t push. 

After a long moment, he finally heard her take a deep breath. “Everything.” Her voice was broken, shaky like he’d never heard it before. “Feel like I’m floating. Like…like I could slip away and no one would notice” 

“I’d notice.”

Eddie’s chest tightened like it does when the silence after a goodbye is louder than the goodbye itself. His words came out too fast, too honest, and he was waiting for her to crawl back into her skin. 

Maggie looked at him for the first time since they’d been outside. Her eyes were glassy, the tip of her nose red, and her cheeks flushed from either emotion or the wind. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fall into him. She just nodded, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie that went past her arms.

“Thank you.” 

They stood like that for a while, just two people in the darkness of the woods. Feet on gravel and a kind of silence neither of them needed to fill. Eventually, Maggie’s shoulder brushes his, and she doesn’t pull away. 

Eddie swallows. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at her —just keeps his eyes on the lake and gives her the space to decide what’s next. She smelled like sunscreen, cherry lip balm, and warm skin. A scent so “Maggie” Eddie wouldn’t be able to put it into words. 

They’re silent for a while, Maggie’s shoulder gently brushing against his when she shifts her weight. The sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie cover most of her hands, twirling a loose thread around her pointer finger  before she gets the courage to speak.

“Will you…”  she starts, then stops. Her voice is raw like it was eariler when she spoke of disappearing. She clears her throat and tries again. “Will you walk me back?”

Eddie’s head lifts, surprised that she asked, and how quiet she sounds. Like she wasn’t used to asking someone for something. He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically, and happily, considering her mood. He swallows the excitement that her asking brings and pushes his hands into his pockets.  “Yeah…yeah, yeah, of course.”

Maggie nods, lingering until he starts walking with her. He doesn’t walk ahead or fall behind, just finds the pace she’s at and matches. The walk back is slow and quiet, feet crunching over gravel like they’re scared to awaken something or someone. The booming bass of B13 fades behind, and the walk back to Maggie’s cabin is wrapped in the late-night heat. Humid, close, and filled with the soft flicker of lightning bugs. They don’t speak for a while. Maggie’s shoulder would bump into Eddie’s, Eddie’s heart would pound like it’s close to exploding, and she’ll have no idea. 

After a while, Maggie exhales. Loud. Exhausted. 

“My dad died.”

Just like that. Like she’s making small talk about the weather. The way she says it makes Eddie think it’s been itching to come out for weeks now but she never found the safety to.

He turns to look at her, but she keeps her eyes on her feet, not wanting to see whatever sad and pitiful expression he has on his face. 

“June. Heart attack. Really sudden…real fuckin’ cinematic.” Her voice is flat, detached, matter-of-fact, as if she said it just right, it wouldn’t matter, and she’d be over it. 

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, racking his mind for words, any words, but when he goes to talk, Maggie just shakes her head and waves a hand in front of him. 

“Don’t. You don’t have to pity me. I’m fine…I just,” she sighed like the words were physically painful. “Yeah” She sighed again.

Eddie stays quiet, just listening. When she finally glances at him, her eyes are sharp, full of thoughts but wet around the edges. 

“It’s just…weird” Maggie finally speaks again, feeling like she has to fill the silence. “Saying it out loud, telling people”

“Yeah” Eddie says like he knew the pain personally, and he did. They’re silent again, approaching Maggie’s cabin. She kicks a rock and they both watch it fly off in front of them. 

“My folks died when I was six.” He clears his throat. His voice is steadier than hers, but the pain is still there, just buried deep beneath his surface. “Car crash. Dad was a drunk… killed my mom.”

“You ever feel like disappearing?”

“Pretty much on a daily basis”

______________________________________________________________

thank you thank you for reading!! i hope you guys like reading as much as i like writing this! if it tickles your fancy like or comment or reblog or just read, I'm thankful either way! love ya bye see ya soon <33333

[birdieistheewordie]

to be annoying because yall clearly didn’t see this LMFAO give her some attention!!

lighting bugs and other ghosts | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 3

check out part one and part two if it floats ur boat :) thank you for reading! gimmie a reblog if you liked it or wanna help my ego <3 ______________________________________________________________

Maggie didn’t know how long it’d been. The music started to blur; her sketchbook was too heavy in her lap, her fingers were numb around the pencil, and her body felt like it was two steps behind. She blinked twice, harsh and deliberate, trying to bring herself back down. The room sharpened a little, but not enough to her liking. 

She tried to breathe, but it was too suffocating. Too hot, too much noise, too many bodies, too many thoughts thumping against the sides of her skull and squeezing her ribs. 

Maggie stood, slowly and carful not to draw attention. She slipped past the cushions, out the crooked door with the spray-painted “B13” that still gleamed like a threat. The night air was cool, damp, and clinging to her cheeks just enough to knock the air back into her lungs. She inhaled deeply, sharp and quiet as she wrapped her arms around her middle. The gravel crunched under her boots as she roamed, no idea where she was going, just away. 

She made it halfway back to the woods before she heard the door creak open behind her. 

“Maggie?”

She froze, stomach dropping for a reason she didn’t know. The voice was gentle, low, and familiar, and she knew who it was before turning around. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek, still glaring at the lake as she heard him jog to catch up. 

Soon enough, he was in her peripheral. His curls now loose, bandanna shoved into his back pocket, and eyes hazy. He swallows harshly, hand scratching the back of his neck, and if Maggie paid close enough attention, it’d be an anxious habit. “Hey,” his voice is light, like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said anything at all. “You alright?”

Maggie hesitated. Eddie knew she would. 

Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, eyes still focused on the dark and gentle ripples of the lake in the distance. “M’fine,” she said, but it didn’t come out how she wanted — too sharp to be convincing and too quiet to be deflected.

Eddie knew she was full of shit, and Maggie knew that Eddie knew she was full of shit.

Eddie didn’t move closer. He just tucked his hands in his pockets and stood beside her. “You don’t have to be”

That got her. 

She looked up at the sky, counting the stars in hopes of swallowing the lump of tears. “I just,” she exhaled, loud and heavy. The lump in her throat didn’t clear, her voice shaky and broken. “It’s loud. In there…in here.” She tapped her temple with two fingers, then her chest. “Couldn’t breathe”

Eddie just nodded like he understood. Like he’d felt the same pressure and deafening feeling that crawls up your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice gentler than Maggie’s heard it. “I get that.”

The breeze picked up, Maggie’s skin breaking out in goosebumps so prominent Eddie could see. He didn’t say anything when she wrapped her arms around herself, just untied the hoodie that was around his waist and passed it to her without hesitation. She looked at the fabric, then at him, and took it. He didn’t ask if she was cold or if she wanted it; he just saw her. 

The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled like cedar and weed as she pulled it over her head. Something about it made the suffocating thoughts a little less intense. Eddie swore there was something like a smile on her face. Not a big one, just something. 

“I dunno what’s wrong with me,” she said after a pause. “I should be okay now…should be over it.” There’s a vulnerability in her voice Eddie hadn’t heard before. Almost like a softness.

“Over what?”

She didn’t answer.

Eddie didn’t push. 

After a long moment, he finally heard her take a deep breath. “Everything.” Her voice was broken, shaky like he’d never heard it before. “Feel like I’m floating. Like…like I could slip away and no one would notice” 

“I’d notice.”

Eddie’s chest tightened like it does when the silence after a goodbye is louder than the goodbye itself. His words came out too fast, too honest, and he was waiting for her to crawl back into her skin. 

Maggie looked at him for the first time since they’d been outside. Her eyes were glassy, the tip of her nose red, and her cheeks flushed from either emotion or the wind. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fall into him. She just nodded, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie that went past her arms.

“Thank you.” 

They stood like that for a while, just two people in the darkness of the woods. Feet on gravel and a kind of silence neither of them needed to fill. Eventually, Maggie’s shoulder brushes his, and she doesn’t pull away. 

Eddie swallows. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at her —just keeps his eyes on the lake and gives her the space to decide what’s next. She smelled like sunscreen, cherry lip balm, and warm skin. A scent so “Maggie” Eddie wouldn’t be able to put it into words. 

They’re silent for a while, Maggie’s shoulder gently brushing against his when she shifts her weight. The sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie cover most of her hands, twirling a loose thread around her pointer finger  before she gets the courage to speak.

“Will you…”  she starts, then stops. Her voice is raw like it was eariler when she spoke of disappearing. She clears her throat and tries again. “Will you walk me back?”

Eddie’s head lifts, surprised that she asked, and how quiet she sounds. Like she wasn’t used to asking someone for something. He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically, and happily, considering her mood. He swallows the excitement that her asking brings and pushes his hands into his pockets.  “Yeah…yeah, yeah, of course.”

Maggie nods, lingering until he starts walking with her. He doesn’t walk ahead or fall behind, just finds the pace she’s at and matches. The walk back is slow and quiet, feet crunching over gravel like they’re scared to awaken something or someone. The booming bass of B13 fades behind, and the walk back to Maggie’s cabin is wrapped in the late-night heat. Humid, close, and filled with the soft flicker of lightning bugs. They don’t speak for a while. Maggie’s shoulder would bump into Eddie’s, Eddie’s heart would pound like it’s close to exploding, and she’ll have no idea. 

After a while, Maggie exhales. Loud. Exhausted. 

“My dad died.”

Just like that. Like she’s making small talk about the weather. The way she says it makes Eddie think it’s been itching to come out for weeks now but she never found the safety to.

He turns to look at her, but she keeps her eyes on her feet, not wanting to see whatever sad and pitiful expression he has on his face. 

“June. Heart attack. Really sudden…real fuckin’ cinematic.” Her voice is flat, detached, matter-of-fact, as if she said it just right, it wouldn’t matter, and she’d be over it. 

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, racking his mind for words, any words, but when he goes to talk, Maggie just shakes her head and waves a hand in front of him. 

“Don’t. You don’t have to pity me. I’m fine…I just,” she sighed like the words were physically painful. “Yeah” She sighed again.

Eddie stays quiet, just listening. When she finally glances at him, her eyes are sharp, full of thoughts but wet around the edges. 

“It’s just…weird” Maggie finally speaks again, feeling like she has to fill the silence. “Saying it out loud, telling people”

“Yeah” Eddie says like he knew the pain personally, and he did. They’re silent again, approaching Maggie’s cabin. She kicks a rock and they both watch it fly off in front of them. 

“My folks died when I was six.” He clears his throat. His voice is steadier than hers, but the pain is still there, just buried deep beneath his surface. “Car crash. Dad was a drunk… killed my mom.”

“You ever feel like disappearing?”

“Pretty much on a daily basis”

______________________________________________________________

thank you thank you for reading!! i hope you guys like reading as much as i like writing this! if it tickles your fancy like or comment or reblog or just read, I'm thankful either way! love ya bye see ya soon <33333

[birdieistheewordie]

lighting bugs and other ghosts | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 3

check out part one and part two if it floats ur boat :) thank you for reading! gimmie a reblog if you liked it or wanna help my ego <3 ______________________________________________________________

Maggie didn’t know how long it’d been. The music started to blur; her sketchbook was too heavy in her lap, her fingers were numb around the pencil, and her body felt like it was two steps behind. She blinked twice, harsh and deliberate, trying to bring herself back down. The room sharpened a little, but not enough to her liking. 

She tried to breathe, but it was too suffocating. Too hot, too much noise, too many bodies, too many thoughts thumping against the sides of her skull and squeezing her ribs. 

Maggie stood, slowly and carful not to draw attention. She slipped past the cushions, out the crooked door with the spray-painted “B13” that still gleamed like a threat. The night air was cool, damp, and clinging to her cheeks just enough to knock the air back into her lungs. She inhaled deeply, sharp and quiet as she wrapped her arms around her middle. The gravel crunched under her boots as she roamed, no idea where she was going, just away. 

She made it halfway back to the woods before she heard the door creak open behind her. 

“Maggie?”

She froze, stomach dropping for a reason she didn’t know. The voice was gentle, low, and familiar, and she knew who it was before turning around. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek, still glaring at the lake as she heard him jog to catch up. 

Soon enough, he was in her peripheral. His curls now loose, bandanna shoved into his back pocket, and eyes hazy. He swallows harshly, hand scratching the back of his neck, and if Maggie paid close enough attention, it’d be an anxious habit. “Hey,” his voice is light, like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said anything at all. “You alright?”

Maggie hesitated. Eddie knew she would. 

Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, eyes still focused on the dark and gentle ripples of the lake in the distance. “M’fine,” she said, but it didn’t come out how she wanted — too sharp to be convincing and too quiet to be deflected.

Eddie knew she was full of shit, and Maggie knew that Eddie knew she was full of shit.

Eddie didn’t move closer. He just tucked his hands in his pockets and stood beside her. “You don’t have to be”

That got her. 

She looked up at the sky, counting the stars in hopes of swallowing the lump of tears. “I just,” she exhaled, loud and heavy. The lump in her throat didn’t clear, her voice shaky and broken. “It’s loud. In there…in here.” She tapped her temple with two fingers, then her chest. “Couldn’t breathe”

Eddie just nodded like he understood. Like he’d felt the same pressure and deafening feeling that crawls up your skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice gentler than Maggie’s heard it. “I get that.”

The breeze picked up, Maggie’s skin breaking out in goosebumps so prominent Eddie could see. He didn’t say anything when she wrapped her arms around herself, just untied the hoodie that was around his waist and passed it to her without hesitation. She looked at the fabric, then at him, and took it. He didn’t ask if she was cold or if she wanted it; he just saw her. 

The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled like cedar and weed as she pulled it over her head. Something about it made the suffocating thoughts a little less intense. Eddie swore there was something like a smile on her face. Not a big one, just something. 

“I dunno what’s wrong with me,” she said after a pause. “I should be okay now…should be over it.” There’s a vulnerability in her voice Eddie hadn’t heard before. Almost like a softness.

“Over what?”

She didn’t answer.

Eddie didn’t push. 

After a long moment, he finally heard her take a deep breath. “Everything.” Her voice was broken, shaky like he’d never heard it before. “Feel like I’m floating. Like…like I could slip away and no one would notice” 

“I’d notice.”

Eddie’s chest tightened like it does when the silence after a goodbye is louder than the goodbye itself. His words came out too fast, too honest, and he was waiting for her to crawl back into her skin. 

Maggie looked at him for the first time since they’d been outside. Her eyes were glassy, the tip of her nose red, and her cheeks flushed from either emotion or the wind. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fall into him. She just nodded, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie that went past her arms.

“Thank you.” 

They stood like that for a while, just two people in the darkness of the woods. Feet on gravel and a kind of silence neither of them needed to fill. Eventually, Maggie’s shoulder brushes his, and she doesn’t pull away. 

Eddie swallows. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at her —just keeps his eyes on the lake and gives her the space to decide what’s next. She smelled like sunscreen, cherry lip balm, and warm skin. A scent so “Maggie” Eddie wouldn’t be able to put it into words. 

They’re silent for a while, Maggie’s shoulder gently brushing against his when she shifts her weight. The sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie cover most of her hands, twirling a loose thread around her pointer finger  before she gets the courage to speak.

“Will you…”  she starts, then stops. Her voice is raw like it was eariler when she spoke of disappearing. She clears her throat and tries again. “Will you walk me back?”

Eddie’s head lifts, surprised that she asked, and how quiet she sounds. Like she wasn’t used to asking someone for something. He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically, and happily, considering her mood. He swallows the excitement that her asking brings and pushes his hands into his pockets.  “Yeah…yeah, yeah, of course.”

Maggie nods, lingering until he starts walking with her. He doesn’t walk ahead or fall behind, just finds the pace she’s at and matches. The walk back is slow and quiet, feet crunching over gravel like they’re scared to awaken something or someone. The booming bass of B13 fades behind, and the walk back to Maggie’s cabin is wrapped in the late-night heat. Humid, close, and filled with the soft flicker of lightning bugs. They don’t speak for a while. Maggie’s shoulder would bump into Eddie’s, Eddie’s heart would pound like it’s close to exploding, and she’ll have no idea. 

After a while, Maggie exhales. Loud. Exhausted. 

“My dad died.”

Just like that. Like she’s making small talk about the weather. The way she says it makes Eddie think it’s been itching to come out for weeks now but she never found the safety to.

He turns to look at her, but she keeps her eyes on her feet, not wanting to see whatever sad and pitiful expression he has on his face. 

“June. Heart attack. Really sudden…real fuckin’ cinematic.” Her voice is flat, detached, matter-of-fact, as if she said it just right, it wouldn’t matter, and she’d be over it. 

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, racking his mind for words, any words, but when he goes to talk, Maggie just shakes her head and waves a hand in front of him. 

“Don’t. You don’t have to pity me. I’m fine…I just,” she sighed like the words were physically painful. “Yeah” She sighed again.

Eddie stays quiet, just listening. When she finally glances at him, her eyes are sharp, full of thoughts but wet around the edges. 

“It’s just…weird” Maggie finally speaks again, feeling like she has to fill the silence. “Saying it out loud, telling people”

“Yeah” Eddie says like he knew the pain personally, and he did. They’re silent again, approaching Maggie’s cabin. She kicks a rock and they both watch it fly off in front of them. 

“My folks died when I was six.” He clears his throat. His voice is steadier than hers, but the pain is still there, just buried deep beneath his surface. “Car crash. Dad was a drunk… killed my mom.”

“You ever feel like disappearing?”

“Pretty much on a daily basis”

______________________________________________________________

thank you thank you for reading!! i hope you guys like reading as much as i like writing this! if it tickles your fancy like or comment or reblog or just read, I'm thankful either way! love ya bye see ya soon <33333

[birdieistheewordie]

if you are struggling with choosing which fundraisers to support, please consider donating to the following places providing medical aid, food, and other supplies to palestine at this time:

donate to doctors without borders here

donate to careforgaza here, providing food, medicine and clothing

donate an e-sim to gaza today

donate feminine hygiene kits for women in gaza

donate to the palestinian civilian relief fund

donate to the palestine children's relief fund

donate to the world food programme

donate medical aid for palestinians

donate to the united nations relief for palestine refugees

donate to healpalestine

if you are looking for individual fundraisers to donate to but are struggling to choose, gazafunds gives a spotlight to fundraisers that are not close to their goal.

instead of watching and supporting eurovision tonight, please instead boost this post & donate if you can. keep your eyes on rafah.

[birdieistheewordie]

he lit the joint, she let him | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 2

there’s a part one to this! check it out here if you wanna <3

thank you for readin cutie patoots :3 ______________________________________________________________

The floors of the cabin creaked like it was trying to get her caught. 

Maggie held her breath, tiptoeing across the creaking wood slats just light enough so she could grip the screen door and stop the shaking of her hands. Claudia had fallen asleep an hour ago, and after what felt like years of waiting for Dustin to start snoring, the threat was gone, and Maggie could make her escape. 

A fan buzzed, and the shuffling of sheets made her freeze, waiting until Claudia flipped onto her side to move any farther. The silence finally came back, and she was able to make her escape into the outside air. 

She was still wearing her cut-off shorts, a threadbare Prince shirt – nothing fancy, considering she had no idea what she had signed herself up for. But, for the first time in a few months, she put on eyeliner and a dab of perfume. That counted for something.

The air outside was heavier than earlier, thick with the smell of damp grass and the kind of humidity that made you question stepping outside at all. The promise of good music and a brief glimpse of a firefly kept her boots moving. She started making her way to the other side of camp, heart pounding like she was fourteen and she was sneaking out for the first time again, but this time, there wasn’t anyone waiting with a six pack and an expectation of some sort of sexual exchange. Just the sound of the woods and the cabin that gleamed in the distance, that Maggie prayed was whatever the hell “B13” is. 

She nearly turned around and went back to her cabin before she started to hear a thumping bass growing closer. Soon enough, a soft orange light appeared over a hedge through a warped window of what must have been an old maintenance shed. B13 was shittily spray-painted above the crooked door in red, and it looked like the kind of place Claudia definitely wouldn’t have approved of. 

Maggie got to the door and hesitated. 

What if it was a joke? What if he wasn’t there and she just crashed someone's party? What if it was a setup? Some jackasses laughing at the sad girl Eddie found near the lake.

But then, she remembered his grin. The stupid and crooked grin he gave her before walking away. 

She swallowed the doubt, remembering the worst had already happened, and knocked three times. There was a pause, the sound of muffled voices and the twang of a guitar connected to an amp coming through the door that was barely on the hinges. 

Maggie panicked, hands flexing at her sides as she racked her brain for “something cool” to say. “Stevie Nicks makes me question if I’m a lesbian.” She blurts and immediately regrets it. 

A snort of a laugh on the other side, and the door squeaked open. There Eddie was, hand leaning on the doorframe, curls messily tied back and a red bandanna around his neck, eyes lit up like she’d just said the funniest thing in the world. 

“Holy shit,” He laughed, stepping aside and opening the door wider to welcome her in. “You actually came!”

The room smelled like old wood, weed, and cigarette butts. The floor was scattered with mismatched rugs and cushions from sofas and reading chairs, and string Christmas lights tangled like yarn across the ceiling. Eddie nudged her with his elbow, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Welcome to the best thing at Camp Holloway.” 

Whatever this was – a fire hazard, a safe space, a rebellion – she could tell Eddie was proud of it. 

Maggie tucked her hands into her back pockets, looking around and trying to act unimpressed. The wood was splintering, and the room was sticky, but the kid playing the electric guitar upfront wasn’t half bad. 

“When do the sacrifices start?”

Eddie grinned, tongue swiping across his top teeth. “Ideally midnight…but, we’re running behind schedule.” 

Maggie rolled her eyes, but Eddie saw the way her lips twitched and her shoulders slumped just enough almost to seem relaxed. Some strange part of Maggie was already glad she came.  

She lingered near the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the light and scan the area. Eddie noticed the way her eyes took in every person, almost like she was looking for a threat that didn’t exist. Maggie toyed with her hands, soon fishing a joint out of her front pocket. His eyes follow, a little grin growing at the small wrapped drug. Without thought, he fished for his lighter, a basic black Zippo flicking open with a click and woosh. 

Eddie lit the joint while it was between Maggie’s lips, the warm glow illuminating her features. He catches the eyeliner that wasn’t there when he met her on the rock, but is quickly taken out of the thought when she passes him the joint. 

Their fingers brush. They both ignore it. 

A handful of kids were already there. Most of them older, likely counselors, or the kind of campers who knew how and when to disappear. One guy tuned his guitar while sitting cross-legged on a milk crate, pick between his teeth and strap slung over his shoulder. A girl with teased hair and a leopard print tank top laughed onto someone’s shoulder, clearly immersed in whatever was so funny. No one seemed surprised to see her, and something about it was refreshing. 

They passed the joint back and forth a few times before it eventually burned out. Eddie muttered a soft “thank you,” and Maggie nodded, desperately praying he couldn’t hear the way her heart was pounding in her chest. Eddie didn’t linger, which she appreciated. He wandered over to the amp, muttering something to the guy who was tuning his guitar. 

Maggie shifted on her feet, scanning and absorbing. She spotted a stack of cushions near the wall. Taking the one closest to the door, nearly knocking over a rusted lava lamp that looked like it hadn’t moved since the year it was made. Her heart just started to slow when a voice made it spike again. 

“You’re new.”

A girl, younger than Maggie, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with a thick blonde braid and unlaced combat boots, lingered before sitting on the cushion beside her. She pulled her knees up to her chest, took a drag of her cigarette, and watched guitar guy hook up his amp. 

“That obvious?” Maggie didn’t look at her directly. 

The blonde shrugged. “Just haven’t seen you before. You with Eddie?”

The question made her gut twist. 

“No.”

“Cool,” she nodded. No follow-up, no pressing. Just passed her cigarette. 

Maggie hesitated, looking at the glowing orange tip before eventually taking an inhale. The taste made her nose crinkle, and the smoke burned her throat, but it reminded her of her dad. She passed the cigarette back after two inhales, a headache already brewing. 

Someone started playing, not a song, just picking at chords, and Eddie found a spot on the floor next to the amp. He leaned back on his palms, head lulling side to side with the rhythm. She watched him just long enough, noticing the way his fingers tapped the ground to the beat before opening her sketchbook so she had something to do with her hands. 

“I’m Chrissy.” the girl added after a few more moments. “You don’t have to say anything…just so you know”

Maggie didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move either, so Chrissy took it as a good sign.

“You draw?” Chrissy glanced over to Maggie’s lap, seeing the beginning of a rough sketch. Maggie wasn’t sure who she was drawing yet, letting the pencil and weed do their thing. It usually ended up being her dad or whatever actor she just watched in a movie. 

Maggie nodded with a gentle hum, glancing at Chrissy briefly. 

“What kinda stuff?” Chrissy got more comfortable, stretching her long and bruised legs out in front of her. 

“People, places…things.” Maggie looked at her briefly, fighting the urge to look at Eddie again. “Stuff that’s kinda real…stuff that’s not”

Chrissy didn’t ask what she meant, she didn’t ask to see, she just nodded and put her focus back on the person playing guitar. And god was that a relief. 

Maggie started to sketch — nothing serious. Shapes, lines, and impressions that soon turned into the undone laces of Chrissy’s boots, the guy sitting on top of the milk crate, and then the slope of Eddie’s jaw under the Christmas lights. 

Chrissy didn’t press, didn’t ask questions, just handed her a warm beer and hummed along to whatever song was playing through the rusted amp. 

It was strange. Not quite safe. Not quite unwelcoming. Just there, existing. 

Maggie’s pencil moved in slow, practiced strokes. Her fingers smudged the graphite as she added shadow and dimension to the milk crate. She’d been drawing for nearly thirty minutes before Chrissy stood up and left. It wasn’t awkward; she didn’t say goodbye or “it was nice meeting you”, she just swiftly stood, tossed her beer bottle in a spray-painted trash can, and moved on to the next conversation. 

Maggie definitely wasn’t sober. She couldn’t tell if she was more drunk or high or maybe a good mix of both, but she knew from the way her mind slowed and knee stopped bouncing. 

She felt him before she saw him.

Eddie. 

He didn’t speak, didn’t jolt the moment. He just gently sank to the cushion next to her. Their shoulders didn’t touch, but he sat closer than anyone else in the room dared to. His smell reached her first. Smoke, leather, and something she could only describe as “boy”, whether that’s cologne or shampoo, she didn’t know. All she knew was that he was close enough to touch if she shifted. 

His denim rustled, belt chain jingled, and she felt a gentle shift in his weight. He was pretending he wasn’t looking over her shoulder now. Maggie felt it; she knew what he was doing. 

Line, shape, smudge. Line, shape, smudge. 

“That’s me,” He breaks the silence. 

Maggie didn’t respond. 

Eddie didn’t push.

______________________________________________________________

YAYAYAYAYAY! im like excited and proud of this?? look at me go! in an ideal world i'd tell you this'll be a whole fic but i don't have that time or effort anymore so let's all enjoy this inspiration while it lasts

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! gimmie a reblog or like or comment or anything if it floats your boat <3

[birdieistheewordie]

somewhere between the grief and the lake | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 1

i got sick and rewatched season 4 of stranger things and then dirty dancing annnnnnd now here we are. don't make fun of me. we'll see how long this lasts <3 ______________________________________________________________

June 1986. Camp Holloway. Upstate Maine. 

It was two weeks after her high school graduation when she got the call. 

“Margaret Quinn? My name is Janet; I’m one of the nurses at Saint Mary's General Hospital. I’m calling regarding your father, Robert Quinn. I’m so sorry to inform you that he passed away due to a heart attack at 5:53 this morning. We did everything we could.”

There was a whole lot of other conversation after those sentences, but if you asked Maggie what she heard after the phrase “passed away,” she’d tell you the nurse didn’t say anything else. She was awoken by the blaring scream of her home phone when she received the call. So early, Family Ties was still playing on the TV from the night before when she stumbled out to the kitchen. 

Her stomach still drops whenever she hears the opening credit song. 

The days that followed were a blur of people telling her how brave she was, pity casseroles that grew moldy in the fridge, family members she hadn’t heard from in years telling her how sorry they were, that he was too young, and a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach that still has yet to be soothed. Her uncle tried to talk to her about logistics, her grandma told her everything happened for a reason, and the girl who used to bully her in fifth grade wouldn’t stop telling her she’ll be there if she needs anything. After about the sixth time hearing “he’s in a better place”, Maggie shut down. 

She received a call from Claudia Henderson, a 39-year-old woman with a midwestern accent, claiming to be her father’s ex-fling from the 1970s, which resulted in the birth of her newfound half-brother, Dustin. After a lot of confusion, awkward phone calls full of Maggie choking back tears, and a finger prick for a DNA test, it was confirmed that Maggie did, in fact, have a half-brother. 

Within a week, Maggie (now going by Maggie Henderson) was packed and on a plane to Hawkins, Indiana, to live with her dead dad’s ex-hookup and her new 15-year-old brother, leaving her house, her last name, and life behind. She swore it’d be easier that way. 

New house. New family. New name. New Maggie. 

She couldn’t be that girl. She couldn’t be the sob story of the girl who never reached her full potential because her dad died, and she never left the shithole of a town because of it. She couldn’t be in that house anyway. Couldn’t walk past his bedroom, smell the hint of his aftershave in his bathroom, or see the chip in his “seasoned” coffee mug anymore. Hawkins wasn’t home, but then again, Maggie had a feeling she may never feel “at home” again. All that mattered was that no one knew her. Or her dad. 

Claudia tried. In her own strange and incredibly Midwestern way, Claudia tried. She left clean and folded towels on Maggie’s bed, bought the flavored water she liked without being asked, and didn’t press when Maggie came home visibly stoned.

Dustin, though, never stopped talking. He followed her around like a duckling with dimples and curly hair. He asked if she liked Star Wars or if she wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons, and Maggie just couldn’t bring herself to tell him to fuck off. 

She didn’t hate him. At all. And that was the worst part.

He was awkward, loud, too smart for his own good, and reminded her more and more of her dad every day. Somehow, this hormone-filled teenage boy didn’t treat her like a stranger when this grief-filled girl from Wisconsin came to live with him. He looked at her like he was proud to have a sister. 

So, when Claudia announced that they’d be spending a few weeks at Camp Holloway - some old campground in the middle of fucking nowhere, Maine, for “family bonding,” Maggie didn’t complain. She packed a duffle full of hidden joints, bought a new sketch book, and got in the car without a word. 

A sign with crooked letters and splintered wood that read “Welcome to Camp Holloway” was the first thing she saw, though nothing was welcoming about it. Pine trees loomed over her, hedges and oddly bright flowers flew past as they drove in. It smelled like pine, mildew, and something metallic, like she could smell the rust on the pipes before even setting foot into a building. 

The gravel crunched under the rubber sole of her boot as she stepped out of the car. She slammed the door shut, taking an inhale of the "mountain air” everyone keeps telling her she needs. She tucked a joint between her lips and lit it behind Claudia’s back instead. 

Maggie didn’t care if she saw, not really. Claudia wouldn’t do much more than shake her head and point a somewhat disappointed sigh in her direction. She let out puffs of smoke as they dragged their luggage to the cabin they were assigned to. It had a red-painted door, a crooked deck that made Maggie nervous, and it was so humid she’s sure a family of mosquitoes had declared dibs on her bunk first. 

After they settled, Dustin was already running off to the main lodge, backpack bouncing on his shoulder as he shouted something about a scavenger hunt with a cash prize. Claudia had left the cabin, telling Maggie she was off to find an extra quilt, but Maggie saw her eyeing the camp “sheriff” on the drive in. 

The cabin was quiet. Silent. Eerily and not peacefully quiet. The kind of silence where the sound of the home phone and her dad’s favorite song start to crawl up the walls of her mind like ivy. The lid on the shoebox she packed her grief into was rattling, shaking, and vibrating despite the concrete she poured on top of it. She stared at the lake from the shaky dock of their cabin, watching the sun reflect on the water and fish pop up for bubbles of air before eventually deciding to grab her sketchbook. 

She found a flat rock under a pine tree taller than the Empire State Building, the joint from earlier now stubbed out next to an ash mark beside her. She was already sticky with sweat, and she reeked of citronella, but the way the lake lapped at the rocks a few feet ahead was oddly calming. The silence near the lake was different from the silence of the cabin. It was peaceful, momentarily quieting the circus that was her mind, and was soon broken by the sound of a snapping branch. 

Maggie turned, expecting Dustin or maybe a counselor telling her she wasn’t allowed to be there, but instead, there he was. 

Long hair, curls crazier than hers, brown eyes so big he looked like a baby deer, and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like he was born with it. He wore too many rings, one a skull and another a snake that wrapped up his index finger. He seemed rough around the edges in a way he didn’t control. His camp shirt was now a tank top, missing the sleeves and resulting in choppy edges of fabric resting on his shoulders. 

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he said, voice softer than she expected. His tone was almost amused. 

“You didn’t,” she lies, flipping her sketchbook shut and hesitating before looking him directly in the eye. 

He sat down next to her without asking, long and lanky legs knocking softly into her knee with a barely audible “whoops”. 

“I’m Eddie,” he says. “You look like you wanna be here about as much as I do.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, her mind racing with what she should say, if anything. He looked out at the lake like she did, their breathing synchronizing within a few seconds. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t sit too close, and most importantly, he didn’t look at her like her dad just died. 

“Maggie.” She eventually mumbles, eyes still fixed on the faux leather cover of her sketchbook. 

Eddie can’t help but crack the smallest of smiles, the corner of his lips upturning. “Cool…cool, cool, cool” 

They were silent again, chests rising and falling in synch. The only sound between the two was the gentle scratch of graphite against her paper and the cicadas humming in the trees. After trying to steal a few glances at whatever she was so focused on, Eddie finally broke the silence. 

“So…you wanna tell me what you’re running from or are we gonna skip to the emotional repression and awkward sexual tension that comes with summer camp?”

Her pencil stopped moving, and Eddie braced himself for a blow to the nose, already prepping for the feeling of her silver ring splitting his skin. But, to his surprise, she let out a breath that sounded something like a laugh. 

Maggie didn’t mean to laugh, not really. But the bluntness of his words, dry humor that was awfully similar to hers, and the fact that he didn’t make small talk all contributed to the breathy and brittle laugh that left her lips. She looked up from the page, and he was already looking at her, a strangely fond expression on his features. 

“Definitely the repression and sexual tension,” She nods. 

Eddie grinned. “Figured.”

Maggie looked back at the lake, letting his words hang in the air like they mattered. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. “So…you’re into this whole camp experience?” she asks, already regretting the effort to make conversation. She always hated small talk. 

Eddie let out a dry laugh that was like hers, the only difference being the amount of life behind his. “M’here 'cause my uncle said the alternative was juvie or military school”

Maggie snorted, and Eddie lit up like she’d just offered him a fifty-dollar bill.  

“What about you?” he asked, and Maggie didn’t know where to start. 

She took a beat and let her silence do the heavy lifting. “Needed a rest” 

Eddie hummed in response, nodding as his gaze trailed back to the shimmering water. Neither believed her response, but neither said anything about it. And the fact that Eddie didn’t press made her feel an odd sense of safety. Almost like he didn’t care that she didn’t want to tell him, like he didn’t expect her to, and that was a change. They sat there for a while, not talking. Not needing to. The heat stretched over them, sticky and foggy, while the lake rippled lazily. Maggie kept her eyes on the lake or her sketchbook, anywhere but him. Part of her was waiting for him to leave, the other curious if he’d say anything else. 

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Eddie asks. 

Maggie blinked, somewhat caught off guard by how blunt he was. He didn’t tiptoe, didn’t use a careful tone, didn’t treat her like she was a piece of fine china. He just observed. She didn’t answer right away, keeping her eyes on a specific lily pad in the distance. 

“I do. Just not when I don’t want to.” She shrugs, now picking at the splintering skin of her cuticles. 

Eddie let out a chuckle, nodding. “Fair enough.”

Another stretch of silence. Eddie picked up a twig, starting to pick at the bark with his thumbnail like he needed something to do with his hands. Maggie could already tell he wasn’t good at sitting still for very long. 

“So, what do you do when you’re not busy bein’ scary and mysterious?” Eddie asked more questions, and for some reason, her stomach twisted. He didn’t look at her; he looked at his hands, and Maggie found herself already memorizing his side profile. Sharp jawline, bulbous nose, and cheekbones so high that they made her somewhat jealous. 

He turned to see her analyzing him when she started speaking. “Sketch. Smoke. Repeat”

“Sounds like my kinda girl” 

That earned a grin. And a sudden cold sweat on her palms, but he didn’t need to know that. 

Another beat passed. 

“You like music?” he asked casually, like he didn’t care about her answer. But the long hair, what seems to be two-day-old eyeliner, and the Metallica patch on his left back pocket gave him away. 

She hesitated. “Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Some people live in silence.”

Artsy. Maggie couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. 

“I like silence.” 

Sometimes. 

“I know,” Eddie nodded in response. Maggie wasn’t sure why he said it; it wasn’t rude or teasing. He said it like it was a fact, like he’d known her for years and this was something he’d heard a couple thousand times coming from her. 

They’re silent again. 

“I do a music thing,” He blurts, like he’s unsure he should’ve said it at all. “After curfew. My friends call it a jam night. I think the name’s awful but it’s fun. Good music, shitty lighting, very against all the rules”

“Who said I wanna break any rules?” Her brow quirked. 

Eddie didn’t say anything; they just stared at one another. Soon enough, Maggie couldn’t help it; there was a smile on her lips. A real, genuine smile. Eddie grinned, letting out a soft laugh. This one was nervous, like he was letting go of a breath he’d been holding. 

“B13,” He nodded again. “Midnight. Knock twice and say something that doesn’t make me regret telling you about this,” Eddie started to stand, wiping the front and back of his jeans to get rid of any dust. 

Maggie tapped her pencil against the page, letting out another brittle laugh. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Something cool, or have some strong opinions about Fleetwood Mac, either usually work”

______________________________________________________________

hot people read part two

i know eddie munson in the big 2025 is kinda crazy, but let a girl love her fictional dead boyfriends. i'm hoping to keep this going because i love this idea a lot but we'll see LMFAO

THANK YOU FOR READING ILY. gimmie a like of a comment or a reblog for a kissy :3

[birdieistheewordie]

Cherry (Acoustic)

Harry Styles, Vogue

[birdieistheewordie]

chords in e minor | harry x estella (oc) | pt. 4

click here for the first :3 here for the second and here for the third

smut warning! 18+

baby's first time publishing her smut, im nervous to say the LEAST. thanks for reading, sugar. ;)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two allow the air between them to get thick, heavy, and sweet. Like a gooey and melting marshmallow over an open flame. They were both too stubborn to finally give in to the desire, wanting to drag it out and torture the other with longing eye contact and embarrassingly soft touches. 

Harry’s gaze flickers back to her lips, appreciating the soft swell and glisten of spit. His spit. Then, it’s lower – a not so subtle– glance to where her robe is undone just enough to show smooth skin and the soft swell of her breast. 

Estella watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, jaw tensing. “D’yeh always look this good after kissing someone?” Harry’s words are strained, like he’s physically holding himself back. 

And, he is.

“Only when they taste like whiskey and seem like they know how to use their mouth.”

Harry chokes on a breath – actually chokes – eyes snapping up from her wrist like she’d just slapped and kissed him at the same time. 

Estella grins, somehow wicked and innocent, like she doesn’t know what her words just did to him.

But she does, there are very few things Estealla does that aren’t intentional. 

Before Harry can recover and process what she’d said, Estella shifts, smooth and driven, swinging one long leg over his lap before settling herself on top of his thighs. She rolls her hips once or twice as she gets comfortable, and Harry’s hand instinctively goes to squeeze the flesh of her right thigh while accidentally letting out a groan.

Estella ignores the feeling his groan gives her. The way it makes her fingertips tingle and stomach swirl up in knots. “Is this okay?” She asks, already knowing the answer but wanting him to say it. 

Harry doesn’t think. He can’t think. 

He just nods, keeping his fingers gripped onto the pudgy part of her thigh where it meets the curve of her ass. It’s not fully her ass, not really – it’s that soft, thick spot where she carries extra weight, and it makes his mouth water. He holds her there tightly, like it’s grounding him. Like if he let go, he’d do something stupid. 

She’s awaiting a response, looking down at him. The look on her face makes him drunker. Not on alcohol. Not on drugs. On her. 

“Yes,” He finally manages to breathe after a harsh swallow. His words are gravel-thick and trembling at the edges. 

She liked how much he was holding back. How his fingers twitched at the fabric of her robe. How tense he was. The feeling of his breath on her face. The slight bulge she can feel pressing and rubbing against her inner thigh.

Harry speaks again – calm, certain, like he’s just stating a simple fact. 

“I’m not kidding, Estella.” He shifts just enough beneath her so she feels the slow and deliberate press of his bulge against her core. Her breath catches and he can hear it, his lips turning up into a lazy and cocky smirk. 

“If yeh’ keep sittin’ like this…m’gonna slide this robe off your shoulders, get on my knees and eat that pretty pussy like it’s my last god damn meal”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t make her thighs clench and her breath stall in her throat.

She prays he doesn’t notice. 

But he notices, of course, he does. 

“You say the word and I’ll make a mess of yeh’, Es.” His fingers drag to her ass now, squeezing just enough to press her into him. He wants her to feel how deeply he wants her. The power she has.

Harry leans in, nose brushing the soft skin of her cheek, and his lips dusting the shell of her ear. 

“I’ll be good at it too.” his voice is a murmur, smooth and deadly. “Real fuckin’ good at it, sweet girl.” 

Estella lets out a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering shut as her hips unconsciously start shifting against him. The friction is too good for her to stop herself. But, she still plays coy, acting like heat isn’t pooling in her lower belly. 

“Maybe you should start begging me,” her challenge hangs in the air like smoke. 

Harry doesn’t bite. He just tilts his head a little to the left, his eyes grazing over her like he’s committing every inch of her to memory. Then, he leans in, his nose brushing underneath her ear. 

“Why would I beg,” he murmurs, nose trailing higher. “when I already know you wanna give into me…huh, Essie?”

Estella doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. She can’t—not with the way his thumb is now stroking small, deliberate circles into the curve of her hip. Not with the way he says it like he’s sure. Like he’s right.

“You wanna be good for me, don’t you?” he asks next, his voice low and quiet but no less intense. “Wanna let go and let someone take good care of you for once…someone who’ll make you feel so good you forget your name”

He moves to kiss her cheek, just barely — so feather light it makes her chase for more. 

Harry notices the subtle chase, a smile growing as he drags his lips up to her jaw. “That mouth you’ve got says you’re in control…but this?” his fingers curl into the plushness of her thigh again, guiding her hips to slowly roll over him. “…this says otherwise”

Her head falls forward, just a little. A small crack in her composure. He feels it. Smells it. Feels the change. 

“Tha’s it,” he whispers between sweet and gentle kisses to her chest. He can feel her giving in a little more with each gentle press of his lips. “Let me take care of you…make you feel safe. Worshipped. All you’ve gotta do is lie back, look pretty and say yes.”

He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes again, his thumb dragging torturously slow circles against her inner thigh. 

Estella exhales through her nose, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mm,” she hums, thumb brushing a freckle on his collarbone so casually, like her words aren’t heavy. “You’re real good at that.”

Harry blinks up at her, unsure of where she’s going with this.

“Sayin' all the right things,” she continues. “The praise. The promises. ‘Wanna take care of you.’ ‘Let me worship your body,’” she mimics all the words that've been said to her before. She’s not rude or mocking. It’s just experience. “Heard pretty much everything before.”

Her tone isn’t bitter or mean. Just detached. Like it’s routine. 

She leans back a little to meet his gaze, and there’s something in her eyes. Curiosity maybe. A challenge. “Lemme guess…you’re not like the others either?” She adds with what she thinks is a knowing smirk. 

Harry doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t try to defend himself or even tell her she’s wrong. He just tilts his head slightly and keeps his voice low, sure of himself. 

“No, m’not like them”

He brings his hands back to her thighs, unable to stop himself from touching her. “I get why yeh’ say that, Es…I really do. I would, too if I were you.”

He leans in again, not exactly touching her lips but enough that she can feel his breath against her face and smell the subtle hint of whiskey on his tongue. 

“But, I don’t say shit I don’t mean…I told yeh’ that” His voice drops lower, more serious, intense. “So if you’ve heard it all before…let me show you something new”

He can tell Estella’s unsure. She’s biting her bottom lip in thought, her brow slightly furrowed. And as she thinks, her hips start instinctively rocking again. 

She’s thinking about it, he can tell.

In some weird way, it makes him proud of her. 

“No pressure. No act. No empty promises.” he kisses the corner of her mouth, lingering. “Just you letting go, looking pretty…and proving to you that I mean it” 

Estella doesn’t answer right away.

Her fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, clearly thinking —really thinking. It is not about whether she wants him; that answer is easy. Yes, of course. 

She’s thinking about what it’d mean to say yes. 

“I’m not scared you’ll hurt me,” she says, voice low but confident. “I’m just…tired. Tired of people making things sound or seem like more than they are.” 

Harry’s quiet, letting her speak. His grip on her thighs stays just tight enough to make her want to grind her hips again. Harry feels her body trying to find the friction, and he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. 

She’s softening, he sees it. Feels it.

“I-I’ve heard it all…” she continues. “The safety…the pleasure…the worship. Men love to say it…they’ll say whatever it takes to get my panties off.” She huffs a dry, almost amused laugh. “Half the time they mean it…until they don’t”

Her eyes finally shift back to his, and Harry feels his chest soften despite their sharpness. She’s not being cruel. She’s guarded, steady.

“I’m not naive,” she says. “So, if this is just a moment — just something you’re trying to dress up to feel good for a little while…say it. I don’t need you to sugarcoat it. I don’t need a fantasy.”

Harry’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t try to defend himself. He doesn’t make excuses. 

He just nods once, like a vow.

“No fantasy. No games.” he says. “This is you and me. Right now. And how fucking good I’m going to make you feel.”

Estella studies his features for a second longer, eyes narrowed like she’s deciding whether or not to jump off a cliff. Then, she nods, not to him, but to herself. 

“Alright then,” she says softly, nodding again.

Then, like a breath of fresh air. “Yes” 

Harry exhales the breath he’s been holding for hours. His hands slide up from her thighs to her hips and sides. He’s slow, reverent, and sure. 

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire and anticipation. “M’gonna take good care of you..alright? Gonna make you feel so good” 

Estella nods. Quiet. Trusting. And, it’s the sexiest thing Harry has ever seen. 

She doesn’t move when his fingers find the tie of the robe, gently pulling it loose. The second the fabric falls off, her shoulders twitch, like she might second guess it. 

Harry catches the subtle twitch, the soft flicker of hesitation. His chest tightens in the best way. She took her clothes off for a living and here she is being all shy and hesitant when he treats her gently. 

The way she should be treated. 

The robe slips away, slow and easy. And the sight is porno-worhty in Harry’s eyes. The fabric folds into her lap, leaving her exposed from the waist up, legs still straddling his lap. Her eyes dart, like she’s trying not to be affected. 

But Harry sees it. The way her weight shifts. How her chins dips like she doesn’t want him to look at her too hard. 

It was delicious. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Harry mumbles, words laced with a smile, eyes twinkling. “Don’t get all shy on me now, sweet girl.” 

His hands roam her body, soft and deliberate so when she goes to swat at his chest with pink cheeks and a soft scoff, he quickly catches her wrist. “Shut up” she mutters, trying to hide a flustered smile. 

Harry presses a sweet kiss to the inside of her wrist, his smile is lethal. The kind of smile that makes Estella feel like she wants to slap him and then kiss him senseless. “Yeh’ tease for a livin’ and yet I can’t look at you without you blushing like a little school girl”

Estella rolls her eyes, her flush undeniable. “Alright…yeah, well. No one’s looking at me like this when I’m on stage”

That quickly shuts him up.

Because fuck. 

The could write a whole damn song with how she just said that. But instead, he says:

“Guess I should take that as a compliment, huh?”

Estella nods and then his hands are back to moving, the feeling from her words settling in his chest. They slide from her waist to the underside of her breasts. 

They’re warm, gently calloused from what she assumes is his guitar and that makes her knees weak. The whole time, he looks at her like he’s trying to memorize her. Like this is the last thing he’s ever going to experience. 

“So beautiful” He breathes in awe, like he can’t believe she’s letting him see and touch her like this.

And he can’t. 

“Wanna know the best part of all of this?” he asks, leaning in to press a feathery kiss to her sternum.

All Estella does is moan. A sound so pretty it makes Harry twitch against her inner thigh. 

Estella’s head lulls back, giving Harry permission to kiss and lick and touch where he pleases without a word. “The fact you gave this to me” His eyes flick up to hers, lips still pressing kisses to her skin. 

The eye contact makes Estella shiver. 

Harry’s grin widens not only at Estella’s reaction but at himself and what he plans to do. He slides a hand up from her thigh, slowly moving to cup her breasts – fingers warm, confident and in no rush. He was going to savor her. 

His thumnbs slowly grazes over her nipple, watching her lips part at the sensation. “So responsive, aren’t you?” his tone is almost teasing, but in a way that makes Estella’s skin hot. “S’beautiful…can’t believe I’m gettin’ to see you like this”

“Should frame this moment” he breathes as his lips brush the underside of her breast. His tongue soon flicked out to taste her — slow and deliberate. “Put you right next to the fuckin’ Mona Lisa” 

Estella lets out a flustered and breathy laugh, his words making her a little less tense. Her spine arches subtly when he latches his lips around her nipple, tongue swirling in warm wet circles that make Estella feel like she’s floating. 

She doesn’t know where to put her hands — his shoulders, his curls, her thighs or maybe the edge of the couch. She feels exposed —seen in the most dangerous and thrilling way possible. 

“Think I might die if I don’t taste you soon” he whispers, breathing hot against her skin. Estella’s stomach tightens at his words, her thighs clenching around his hips.

He feels it.

“C’mon, Es” He gently coaxes, lips soon trailing down to the nape of her neck and shoulder. Harry taps her thighs, a subtle hint for her to get off his lap. She obeys, shuffling and leaning back on the couch. 

Estella watches him drop lower until he’s settling on the floor in front of the couch kneeling.

Kneeling.

Harry gently pries her legs open, softly coaxing her to open up with long strokes up her legs. He tosses a throw pillow on the floor for his knees, like he’s planning on being there for a while.

She's never been looked at like this. Not on stage. Not in her past relationships. Not ever. 

Like he’s starving. 

Harry kisses the inside of her left knee, then her right. His lips are slow, methodical, and so gentle he can see how it makes her relax. His hands spread her knees wider, and he can’t help the hum that leaves his lips when he sees how wet she is. Like she’s glowing.

“S’fuckin beautiful” he breathes. “You know that? Could write an album about this pussy alone” His words are filthy and he sees how they affect her. How she shivers and how her thighs start to twitch like they’re going to squeeze around his head.

Estella almost laughs — but then his tongue licks up her center and any trace of humor is quickly replaced with a sharp gasp.

Harry groans at the taste of her. 

She’s warm. Wet. Heavenly. He doesn’t start fast or too sure of himself, he’s methodical. Worshipping and figuring out what makes her let out the prettiest sounds. His tongue swirls, flicking and kissing softly at her clit until her thighs are twitching on either side of his head. 

Estella whimpers — a sound Harry swears is the cry of an angel. Her hips lift, fingers tugging him closer by his curls. Harry moans again, the sound vibrating against her and making her cry out. Loud.

“That’s it,” he rasps between gentle strokes, dragging his fingers through her folds before slowly sinking two fingers inside. “Sucha good girl…opened up so quick for me”

Estella gasps, legs instinctively falling to open her hips. His fingers curl just right. His tongue doesn’t let up. She can’t tell where his tongue ends and her pleasure begins — all she knows is she’s dripping, moaning and soon to be quivering if he keeps the pace he’s at.

“For fuck’s-,” she starts before she’s cut off with her loud moan, his fingers curling up at her spot. She can practically feel him smirking into her; his cocky pride making her even more desperate. Not like she’d ever admit it.

“D-don’t you dare st-stop”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar” he murmurs between messy kisses. His eyes flick up to hers, his lips and chin shiny with her arousal. “Want you to cum just like this fo’me. Right on my tongue, alright? Wanna feel you shake for me” 

He’s working her the best he can now, pulling out all the tricks. His fingers curl in a gentle upwards direction, tongue flicking her clit in tight and slow circles, murmuring praise and approval into her like a man possessed.

“Taste like candy..so fuckin’ good. M’gonna dream about this. How you taste…how you sound. How damn pretty you look when yeh’ being treated how you should be”

Estella’s already there, already unraveling and melting into his touch. Her thighs are trembling, moans spilling from her lips with no hesitation or shame. Only need and pleasure. 

“Let go,” he urges, voice low and commanding. It wasn’t a question or a suggestion, it was an order. “Be a good girl and give it to me, Sugar. I can take it. Show me how much better I make you feel compared to all the other fuckin’ idiots that’ve touched you” 

That’s all it takes.

Her back arches. Her jaw falls open in a silent cry. Her body shatters.

Harry doesn’t stop, not right away. He coaxes his fingers and licks her though every wave and shock of pleasure. He goes until she’s whimpering, twitching and trying to squirm away out of overstimulation. 

Finally, he pulls his lips away, gently withdrawing his fingers with a sweet kiss to her inner thigh. It’s so tender and genuine it nearly makes Estella burst into tears.

When he looks up, she’s wrecked. Hair wild, lips swollen, cheeks pink and makeup running from a mix of sweat and watery eyes. 

She looks beautiful. And the fact that Harry’s the one to make her look like this makes him want to do it all over again.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, pushing himself up from the ground so he can feel her close to him again. “Was it too much?” 

Estella doesn’t speak for a moment. She’s just breathing heavy and deep. relishing in the afterglow of her high. She felt like she was floating.

Then, after he’s pulled her back into his lap, her quiet and sweet voice breaks their silence. “You meant it” he can hear the smile in her words as she hides in his neck and it makes Harry’s heart feel funny. 

Harry can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his lips. He places a gentle kiss on the bare skin of one of her shoulders. “Every last word, Es.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING ILY. give me a like or a comment or a reblog for a kiss, or even just read it. thank ya either way <3

[birdieistheewordie]

asked, not taken. | harry x estella (oc) | pt. 3

click here for the first :3 and here for the second <3

send me a message if you have any requests <3

______________________________________________________________

Harry huffed out another nervous laugh, an undeniable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only one way to figure it out, huh?” He asks, but he doesn’t move. He just sits there, letting the quiet settle between them like a secret. 

He wants her to want him – needs her to. He needs to know he’s not losing his mind for feeling so…smitten. 

His body betrays him. His knee brushes against hers again, and this time it’s not accidental. To his luck, Estella moves closer, clearly liking the subtle brush. She can feel it. Feel him. His need, the electric buzzing that was his desire. His eyes won’t stop flicking to her mouth, and she has to play with the lining of her robe to stop herself from pouncing. 

“If I kissed you..” He interrupts her spiraling thoughts, eyes zeroed in on her cupid’s bow like it’s something scared.

 He wanted to taste it.

 “...do you think you’d let me?” His voice is lower now, like he’s scared he might ruin this. 

Essie’s grin falters – not because she doesn’t want him to. Hell, there’s nothing she wants more. 

Well, that’s entirely not true. She wants his hands. His mouth. His tongue that keeps flicking out to wet his lips, like he’s teasing her on purpose. 

But, that’d be too easy. 

“I mean…that depends,” Estella responds, cocking her head slightly as she leans into the couch’s back cushion, chin resting on her palm.

She can’t stop moving closer. So close she can smell the whiskey on his breath and the subtleness of his cedar cologne. Clean – but not neat freak– like he’d done laundry but didn't fold it, and taken the shirt right from the dryer before he left the house. There’s something else, too, maybe leather? Maybe sweat from being in the club? Whatever it was, it made Estella’s head feel cloudy. 

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you’re any good at it.”

Harry lets out another soft and breathy laugh. This one’s a little less nervous, softer, and does something awful to her chest. He’s so unsure of himself, but there’s this subtle confidence. He’s not inexperienced or fumbling through this; he knows what to do. She can see him holding back, how he’s watching her every signal and subtle flirt. 

He’s watching, reading, resisting her. 

She hates how much she wants him to cave. To give in and kiss her until she's gasping for air. 

“Yer’ not gonna make this easy for me, huh, Es?” He asks her, and this time his tone is a little more confident, less nervous, and more knowing. The subtle drop of her nickname makes her legs feel like jelly, and her lips twitch up into what looks like a flustered expression. 

She’s good at flirting. Trained in it, even. It’s her job. But this? This feels different. Her usual confidence and snark feel slippery, like she’s trying to hold herself up in the rapids. 

Estella pushes it down, eyes dropping to her fingers that toy with the edge of her robe. Her cheeks are so hot she can feel them. Her stomach? A disaster. “Maybe I like seeing you squirm.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, one that says he knew she was going to say that. Harry swallows thickly before he speaks. “If I kiss you…m’not one to half-ass it.” 

“I’d hope you wouldn’t,” She whispers back. She’s not teasing anymore, she’s confessing.  “I’m not interested in almost” 

For a second, neither of them moves. Their hearts pound in their ears, and the same thoughts of “is he/she gonna do it?” run through their minds. 

The air between them is charged, as if either of them moved, it’d set off a spark, and leave the two in flames. Harry’s gaze lingered on her mouth before moving down to the soft columns of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the peak of her collarbone. The unholy part of him is picturing the robe falling open, slipping off her shoulders, and pooling at her feet. 

Stop. He tells himself. Stop thinking like that. 

They both open their mouths to speak at the same time, but Harry beats her to it. “I’m not one to go halfway…if m’doing something then, I’m doing it.” His voice is low, meant for her and only her. 

His voice is coated with something she hadn’t heard from him before. It’s not lust, it’s something heavier, raw. Estella’s lungs flutter, delicate and frantic to find the air that’s escaped them.

It’s clear he’s not just talking about the kiss. That, she can feel. 

She tries to speak, and she can’t. Estella blinks up at him, opening her mouth, but her throat’s too tight to speak. Everything in her aches for him, like she’s been holding something back, and he’s the first to notice it. 

She had no idea what it was…but there was some sort of peace in the feeling. 

Harry moves closer, leaning in like he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t have a teasing grin or an anxious look in his eye. Harry gently pushes her hair away from her face and behind her ear, a quiet look in his eye that says You can trust me. 

“Can I kiss you, Estella?” He asks and she’s thankful she’s sitting because if she weren’t, Estella’s pretty sure she would have melted. 

No one’s ever asked to kiss her before; they’ve just taken. 

She doesn’t even know she’s nodding until his face moves in closer, and her lips are parting. “Please”

And when their lips finally touch, it’s not fireworks or earthshattering – it’s right. Soft, gentle, and deliberate, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he doesn’t savor this moment. His lips are warm and he’s careful, sure of himself but not cocky. He’s memorizing the shape of her lips, the cupid’s bow he’s been drooling over. The pouty bottom lip he can’t help but softly suck on. She tastes like raspberry lip gloss and an almost too warm summer evening in Italy. 

And, fuck, did Harry love Italy. 

Estella kisses him back without hesitation, her hand slipping to the back of his neck, fingernails grazing his jaw, making Harry’s heart feel like it was going to give out. 

Estella lets out a sound so sweet, and so lewd, it punches the breath from Harry’s lungs. He’s not sure if he’s breathing at all. 

With that exhale, it hits her. This moment isn’t just a kiss, it's a choice.

A choice to be soft. To be open.  

When they pull away, Estella gasps, her eyes still shut as Harry’s lips float to her cheek and jaw. He places gentle and deliberate pecks, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. He had to taste her, ached to taste her. But for now, the velvety and freckled skin of her cheek and jaw will suffice. 

He lingers on her cheek, her eyes still closed, neither wanting to escape the warm bubble that was their kiss. He pulls away first, hoping her eyes are closed so he can see what she looks like in the softness of a post-kiss haze. To his luck, her eyes are still closed, basking in the taste and feel that was his lips. Her lips are swollen, pink, and spit-shined. 

When Estella opens her eyes, Harry’s already grinning – that lazy, lopsided smirk that’s half sex, half smug. It hits her in the lower belly, an undeniable heat she’s not pretending to ignore anymore. 

Whatever this feeling is, it’s new. Weird and foreign. But not unwelcome.  

“Well?” He murmurs, thumb brushing under her jaw. 

“Wipe that dumb look off your face.” She smirks, rolling her eyes and swatting at his chest. Sure, she sounds confident, but her insides? Mush. The way his tongue met hers, the curl of his fingers in her hair, she couldn’t stop replaying the feeling in her mind.

No one’s looked at her the way he did. 

He catches her hand mid-swat – it’s not much of a smack, more kitten than threat. Harry laughs, loud and rumbling from his chest, and it hits Estella right on the gut. She likes his laugh. Wants more of it.

Needs more of it. 

“Do not have a dumb look on m’face,” he argues, yet the smile stays the same. He lowers her hand from his chest, thumb dragging meticulous circles over the supple skin of her wrist. She’s wearing a diamond tennis bracelet – delicate and sparkling like the rest of her. 

Estella should pull back. She knows that. 

She isn’t even getting paid. She just likes being around Harry. 

And that reason is exactly why she should pull away. Why she should say goodnight. Why she should kick him out of her dressing room, and go back to avoiding his name when mentioned amongst the other girls.

But she doesn’t. She stays. 

Lets his thumb trace lazy circles over her wrist like he owns this moment. Like, he knows she’s not moving anytime soon.

And maybe he does know that…maybe she does too.

______________________________________________________________

THANK YOU FOR READING!! these two are so fun to write, i feel them brewing in my brain, we'll see how it goes. if you wanna kiss or if you wanna show me some love, like and reblog and comment!!! ILL SEE YOU SOON. MWAH <3

[birdieistheewordie]

me: I write for myself, not validation

also me after posting a fic *refreshes ao3 every five minutes*

(two things can be true)

[birdieistheewordie]

frilly socks and filthy thoughts | harry x estella (oc) | pt. 2

i got excited and wanted to post this quickly. i have like 12 pages of this in my docs but we'll see how long that lasts!! also this is much longer don't expect this often LMFAO. THANK YOU FOR READING ILY MWAH <333

if you weren't here for the first part, click here for the beginning. or don't, i'm not one to judge.

word count: 2.6k

______________________________________________________________

Shit, she knew that.

Estella quickly nods, shaking her head and reaching out to place an apologetic hand on his thigh. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I knew that, I totally knew that!” The hand moves from his thigh to her forehead. Harry’s body is already aching for more of her touch. “You sing too! Niall’s told me…I’ve heard you're the best in the group.”

Essie’s grin is sultry, contagious, and somehow makes sweat form on his hairline. Harry chuckles softly, looking down to hide the shyness and schoolboy-like expression on his face. Estella can't help but think the look is endearing, humble, and incredibly different from the Harry she’s heard about from around the club. 

Harry and Niall were somewhat legendary when it came to them being in the club. Not because they were always around — Harry had only been three times — But because they were them. Great tippers, respectful and charming in the exact way that made the dancers talk. The moment their names hit the list, security tripled, whispers spread, and the dancers either got ready for the best night of their career or the worst. Depending on the mood of the day.

For Estella, it was usually the latter. She liked things quiet, clean-cut, and like how they were every day. So when she and Niall reconnected, she made sure to make a rule about steering clear of each other when she was working.

They’d known each other briefly from university. The two were in the same late-night study groups and even shared a drunken kiss at a house party that both of them chose to “forget”. Life moved fast, they lost touch. Then, out of nowhere, Niall shows up at the club. He was all nervous smiles and stuttering greetings like he hadn’t watched her drop her robe and perform on stage.

He was about as cute as Estella remembered. Floppy hair, thick accent, and the same shy-ish charm from school. She’d always been told to go after the shy/more bashful ones. Fellow dancers told Estella she wasn’t as intimidating, just warm enough to catch the ones that didn’t know how to be caught.

Harry, on the other hand, would disagree.

After a few private shows, a few nights of watching and tucking big bills into her waistband, Niall finally asked her out on a date. He spoiled her with fancy dinners, bouquets of flowers, and the occasional gift because he liked her smile. They had sex — great sex for the record — but it was casual. Always had been. Once Niall started hitting it off with Amelia, Estella knew it was time for her to step back. She had no problem with it. She always had a tendency to run before things got sticky. That was just her style. 

Harry had a reputation of his own.

The dancers often called him a looker — or sometimes a ghost, depending on who you ask. He tipped well, bought a round of drinks for himself, and if he was with anyone else, smiled when appropriate but never asked for a dance. Never stay too long. Never touched. 

It was always like he’d been dragged there, and yet he kept coming back just enough to keep all the girls wondering why.

It was the mystery that kept his name in the air even long after he’d leave. He didn’t chase. He didn’t throw twenties on stage to get someone’s attention. He didn’t flirt. He just…watched. 

“Psh…Niall says that about all of us lot,” Harry drawls, waving a lazy hand in the air. The alcohol in his system was making his accent thick, like he’d never left Cheshire.

Estella’s grin seems to widen. There was something about the way he said it — unassuming, genuine — that made her want to poke at the cracks of his “cool” exterior.

The fan above them hums, blowing the soft faux fur lining of Estella’s robe, Harry’s eyes unable to stop themselves from dipping to the moving fabric near her collarbone. 

“That’s not true…you seem to forget I know the guy.” She teases, but there’s warmth behind her voice. She could tell he liked being teased without expectation or flattery. “I’ve heard a few songs…if I thought you were that bad I’d tell you.” She shrugs, and Harry’s drunken mind can’t tell if she’s serious. 

“You would not.” He laughs, shaking his head.

People rarely spoke to Harry like that, not genuinely. Not without an angle or ulterior motive. Fame did that — it made compliments (and pretty much everything) feel transactional. People often praised a version of him that didn’t exist. At least, not anymore. 

So when someone looked him in the eye and said something genuine…he didn’t know what to say, and it often left him unsure of what to do with it. 

Harry looks away for a moment, her intense eyes pouring into his, making him flustered. His gaze traveled back down to her chest. His brain was mush, stuck on the way the faux fur brushed her collarbone.

God, her skin had to be soft. It couldn’t look like that and not feel like melting butter.

“Oh, I would,” Estella nods, noticing the way his eyes lingered – but not quite where she thought they’d be. He wasn’t staring at her boobs, surprisingly, even with the way her robe slouched off her shoulder. Especially considering where they were. 

She was ued to stares. Estella thrived off them – job and all. But his stare? His stare was different. Less hungry. More curious. Thoughtful…maybe even admiring? 

This man was impossible to read. 

There’s a beat of silence between the two, Harry’s mind finally falling back into his head when he realizes he’s being creepy. 

“You…you were really good by the way.” He muttered. Again. His voice was quieter than before, eyes starting away from the warm, olive colored silk that was her skin.  

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he’s internally wincing and hitting himself. The three glasses of whiskey that were supposed to help chill him out, be cool, and act normal were clearly not doing their job. 

But then, Estella smiled. And that changed everything. 

It’s a real smile, nose scrunch, and eye crinkle included. Some of the anxiety in his chest loosened. 

“Thank you, Hun.” She grins, soon brushing her hair behind her ears like she had no idea what that move did to him. The soft pet name that rolls off her tongue like she said it all the time – and maybe she did – but, to Harry, it as new and terrifying and so sexy it made his mouth dry. 

Harry could see her clearly now. Doe eyes, delicate nose, sharp cheekbones. And those lips. Plump and pouty and practically begging to have his thumb between. 

Estella could see it now—how tense he was, how shy.

The infamous Harry Styles –rumored womanizer, club mystery, and every tabloid’s wet dream– was looking like a deer caught in the headlights. It clicked. He wasn’t aloof or unapproachable like some of the dancers had whispered.

He was just nervous. And honestly? It was cute…sweet even.

“So, I know Niall kinda dragged you here…” she started, voice as smooth as honey. “But I’ve seen you around a few times.” A smirk touched her lips. “Can I ask what keeps you comin’ back?” Estella cocked her head like she already knew the answer to her question. 

Harry’s brain scrambled. He’s been here…what? Three, four times? Enough to make the dancers whisper.

Enough for her to remember.

The anxious part of Harry immediately worries some news outlet caught wind of it – “Harry Styles spotted again at exclusive boudoir club…”

But Estella isn’t teasing. She was just asking, like she had a genuine interest, and that made it feel even more dangerous. 

Harry’s eyes flick up from his hands. The thoughts hover on the edge of his tongue. He wants to keep his mouth shut. He really does, but he can’t stop the words from falling from his lips. 

“You”

Fuck. He needed to stop drinking. 

Estella just smiles. If Harry looked hard enough, he swore he could see a flush on her cheeks. A soft ballerina pink that crept across her cheeks, subtle under the glow of the dressing room light.

She didn’t speak. Just looked at him for a second, that felt like an eternity. 

“Really?”

Harry fidgets in his seat, wishing he could rewind time and take back what he’d said. He’s now painfully aware of how small the room was. How close her thigh was to his. How tight his jacket felt.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that, but she’s still smiling.

Not mocking. Not teasing. Gentle. Almost like she was silently inviting him to keep talking. He clears his throat, swallowing harshly as his eyes flicker to her glittering lip gloss for the thousandth time. “And…I mean, the drinks are good too. But, uh…it’s mostly you.” 

Estella let out a light and airy laugh, almost like she didn't mean to before she started talking. Her eyes, framed with dark liner and thick fake lashes, were kind. Warm. Curious. 

“You’re real sweet, aren’t ya?” 

Harry huffs out a small breath, hand anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t tell anyone though…ruins my mystery.” 

She lets out an airy laugh like last time, but this one’s louder, clearly coming from her chest. It’s a sound Harry finds himself itching to hear again, and it’d only been a few seconds. 

Her eyes twinkle as she leans back against the velvet couch, positioning her body just enough so it makes his mouth feel like it’s full of cotton. “Your secret’s safe with me…I promise…H” 

The nickname shouldn’t make Harry’s stomach flip the way it does, but he’s learned his body seems to have a completely different mind as of late.

He twists the rings on his hand, a nervous habit he picked up when he was fifteen and never really outgrew. Estella notices the subtle anxious behavior, and it’s heartwarming in a strange way. It makes him more…human. 

He can see the way Estella picks up on the anxious mannerism and there’s softness in her eyes. A softness that made him feel…normal. And, maybe even safe.

Harry’s sure he looks ridiculous – red-cheeked and tipsy, blurting compliments out like he didn’t know how to act around pretty girls.  He’d been on red carpets, sang in front of thousands, performed all around the world, and yet, here he is, blushing like a kid in health class. 

The silence now between them was comfortable. Dangerous, even. When her knee brushes against his, Harry swears his heart stops.

She smelled like cherry cream and something warm, like baby powder, or maybe just her, but either way, it clung to Harry. It hit his nose and immediately filled his nostrils, coated his lungs, and stuck under his nails. 

If he were any more tipsy, he’d probably take a bite out of her neck.

He can’t stop staring at her creamy skin, imagining what it’d feel like under his tongue, the sounds she’d make, or the taste of the delicacy that was her flesh. 

Estella moves so she’s just a little closer, their thighs now pressed firmly against one another. Harry can’t help but wish he had worn shorts so he could feel her skin against his, even just for a brief moment. But if he wore shorts to an event like this, Niall wouldn’t let him live it down.

His fingers twitched as they rested on his knee, but he didn't move. 

He couldn’t move. 

Then, so casually, he almost missed it, Essie reached for his hand. 

Her nimble and long fingers brush over his. Her touch is light and feathery. So light it makes Harry’s head feel fuzzy. Her fingers just skim, like it’s a test or as if she were asking for permission without saying anything. His breath catches, and his eyes flick up to hers. 

Estella doesn’t look away or stop touching him – she smiles. 

Harry feels like he might explode when he turns his palm over, silently telling her to hold his hand. She slides her hand into his, skin warm and soft. The second they lace their fingers, everything else disappears. The noise outside the small dressing room, the buzz of the alcohol in his system, his nerves—all of it. 

“You’re tense,” Estella says, looking down at their hands, noticing the tattoos on his arms before her eyes move up to his. 

“Am not,” Harry lies through his teeth, and neither believe him.

His heartbeat feels deafening, desperately thudding against his ribcage like it’s begging to escape. Estella’s so warm it’s dizzying–her presence alone setting his skin aflame, waking every inch of him from the inside out. 

He didn’t dare to move, just letting her hold his hand like it was something they’d done a million times before. Like Harry wasn’t screaming at himself to not fuck this up. 

Estella just hums, unconvinced as she uses her free hand to push some of the hair out of his face. His hair was longer than hers, curls ruthless and nearly untameable, but he made it work. 

Essie’s pretty sure Harry could make anything work.

She tucks the curl behind his ear so she can see more of his face. Something in her was entranced by his cheekbones and dimples. Her knuckles skimmed his cheek, lingering for a beat too long before eventually pulling away.

Harry’s breath audibly catches.

Essie doesn’t say anything about it. She doesn’t tease or poke fun, she just smiles that soft, knowing smile as her free hand plops back into her lap. 

Harry’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. Or just drunker than he thought, but either way, he felt like putty in her manicured hands. 

God, her perfume. 

It’s cherries and skin and all things holy. And, he swears it’s some kind of aphrodisiac. 

She’s watching him. She’s been watching him. 

Her look is almost unreadable, like she’s thinking of her next move or maybe his. She’s looking up at him through her lashes, and it’s making his pants tighter, the doe-like shape of them making his thoughts…filthy. 

“Do girls always make you this flustered?” Her voice is low, like she’s letting him in on a secret.

He lets out a huffy laugh, nose wrinkling. Another anxious habit he picked up when he was fifteen and hasn’t been able to shake. 

“Uh…no. Just the ones that wear pink frilly socks and smell like heaven.” 

Estella smiles widely. Wide and genuine, and playful. “So what you’re saying is that I’m special?” 

Harry shrugs, trying his hardest to play it cool, but his cheeky grin and flushed cheeks deceive him. “Maybe a little” 

His words make her move closer. The action was involuntary, like he was some sort of magnet that was pulling them nearly chest to chest. Her robe falls farther down her shoulder, and she doesn’t fix it, nor does Harry. 

He’s too busy staring at her mouth. 

They’re only a few inches apart now. Maybe six. Maybe five when Harry lets out an exhale, a reminder to himself to breathe, or else he’ll pass out. He can see the little specks of glitter in her makeup and could count every freckle if she’d let him.

It was torturous. 

“If I kissed you right now…would that ruin this?” He asks, the words flowing off his tongue so quickly he didn’t really have the chance to think it through. Estella immediately grins when the word “kiss” leaves his lips, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry. 

“I dunno…are you any good at it?” She teases, a crooked grin on her lips. A grin that felt more genuine, more true to her outside of the club. 

Whatever that kind of her was. Harry didn’t care; he wanted to know it.

______________________________________________________________

THANK YOU AGAIN!!! for an extra smooch give her a like, a comment, a reblog or an interaction. plsplsplspls im desperate 🫶🏻 OK MWAH UNTIL NEXT TIME <333

[birdieistheewordie]

Silk Pages's Masterlist

Started:05/12/2025

Last updated: 05/13/2025

Total Works: 2

The Whispering Shadows:

Harry is a skeptic, grounded in logic and consumed by an investigation that defies explanation. When he crosses paths with Y/N, a sharp, enigmatic medium drawn into the same mystery, he's forced to confront what he can't understand. Though he doesn't trust easily, her presence is impossible to ignore. As the case deepens and their connection intensifies, Harry begins to question everything he thought he believed, including her. 

Una notte en roma:

Summary: Y/N’s just trying to enjoy her time in Rome—wine, karaoke, and maybe a little chaos. She definitely doesn’t expect to cross paths with Harry Styles at a random bar. He’s low-key, charming, and way too handsome for her peace of mind. What starts as one flirty, unexpected night turns into something neither of them saw coming. It’s messy, magnetic, and totally unforgettable—because when in Rome… right?

[birdieistheewordie]

not quite his scene but she defintly could be | harry x estella (oc) | pt. 1

AHHHH OKOK HERE I GO. it's been YEARS since i've published anything i've written pls be nice i'm a nervy gal. here's the mess that is estella and harry.

word count: 600+

______________________________________________________________

Harry didn’t like coming to places like this. 

Music blared. Alcohol reeked. Drunk people shouted. His ears rang. Even tipsy, Harry hated clubs – even this one, which advertises “erotic experiances” on the website. In reality, it was a sex club with more clothes and fewer people fucking in front of you. It was a soft introduction to a real sex club. 

Harry only came because Niall begged him to. His girlfriend, Amelia, was dancing tonight. As impressive a performer as she was, it still felt weird watching your best mate’s girl strip on stage. Let alone tuck a few bills into her waistband. 

That’s not Harry.   

“What’s with the miserable look?” Niall laughed, one arm lazily wrapped around Amelia’s waist. 

Harry swirled the three ice cubes in his whiskey glass. “Told you m’not the biggest fan of clubs.” He quickly looked at Amelia. “Nothing against you, of course.”

“No offense taken, H” She giggles, spinning the straw in a fruity drink. “Most of us don’t like it either. 

“You should introduce him to Es!” Niall said, suddenly excited. 

Amelia beams. “You are so smart! They’ll love each other.” She turned to Harry quickly, eyes sparkling with excitement. “She’s another dancer – super sweet, hell of a performer, and like…annoyingly hot”

Before Harry can protest or say no, Amelia pulls him out of his seat and toward the backstage hallway, chattering about Estella – “or Es, or Essie, depending on the day.” In all honesty, Harry wasn’t listening. The hallway spun slightly, the music falling behind them, and his anxiety growing ahead of him. 

He’d heard of Estella before. A friend of Niall’s from uni. They fooled around a bit, supposedly before Amelia came around. That’s all he knew.

Backstage, the energy was different. Glittery heels clicked past, the walls buzzed with a mix of cheap and expensive perfume and low voices. The two turn around a corner and Amelia knocked gently on a door.

“Essie? I’ve got someone for you to meet!”

She stood in front of a floor-length mirror, lashes halfway on. She looked like velvet. Like a flickering flame. Like every dream Harry wished for but never admitted to having. 

“This is Harry,” Amelia smiles, a knowing look on her lips. What she knows? Harry’s clueless. “You two…will get alone just fine.”

Then, she was gone, the sound of the dressing room door clicking shut. 

“Hi there,” She extends a manicured hand. Soft pink nail polish with an almond shape, making Harry feel insecure about his chipping and awfully painted black polish. “I’m Estella. Or Es. Or Essie.”

Harry laughed nervously, taking her hand. “I’m Harry. Or, H.”

Her robe was black silk, trimmed with fluff. Her socks were pink and frilly, lace tickling her ankles. Her eyeshadow glittered like pink champagne. And Harry…he couldn’t stop staring. 

“You were…amazing tonight,” he blurts, cheeks red once he realizes he’s said his thoughts out loud. 

“Thank you, Sweetheart.” She smiled, sweet and lethal. “So…what’s a quiet guy like you doing here?”

Smiled. She's...smiling? 

Harry sat without a second thought when she tapped the seat beside her. “You caught me,” He laughs nervously. “This isn’t...quite my scene. Niall dragged me here for…inspiration?” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Maybe he was a little drunk, but the way her lips moved while she was talking was like a moth to a flame. He couldn’t stop watching. 

“Inspiration for what exactly?” Her brow quirked, a subtle look Harry wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t three glasses of whiskey in. He can’t take his eyes off her, the subtle sheen of her skin, the way her lashes reached her eyebrows, the sweet and defined point of her cupid’s bow.

“Uh… music. I write music.” He nodded, offering a smile that was both sheepish and practiced. It was technically true, though he couldn’t help the flicker of disappointment that she didn’t seem to recognize him. Given her history with Niall, he’d assumed she might. 

But whiskey always had a way of making him more vulnerable than he wanted to be.

______________________________________________________________

click here for the second part if i sparked your interest :)

HOWD I DO? HOWD I DO? ill post the next one eventully i just wanna be mysterious. share or like or reblog to even just read and ill give you a kiss! THANK YOU MWAH BYEBYEBYE <33333

[birdieistheewordie]

obsessed.

Una Notte a Roma - Harry Styles fanfic

Hi! This is my very first fanfic, so I’m a little nervous but super excited to share it with you. Thank you for reading it and I hope you enjoy this little Roman adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it 💫 (pls pls pls reblog if you liked it :)

word count: 2k

______________________________________________________________

It’s just another night in Rome, nothing too special, right?

The air outside felt like the remnants of the day, warm but with a breeze that pulled at your clothes, urging you to breathe deeply, to live in the moment. Y/N had been in Italy for just a few weeks, enough to know where the good gelato spots were, but not enough to feel entirely comfortable speaking Italian without second-guessing every word. She’d signed up for the exchange program on a whim, a last-minute decision, and now she was here, surrounded by cobblestones and ancient history, living on a schedule that barely made sense.

The bar she walked into was small, tucked between two old buildings in the heart of Rome, the neon lights flickering above the door, promising both danger and excitement. It was the kind of place where tourists and locals collided, unpredictable, but always interesting. Her friends were already sitting at a table near the back, laughing and talking in a mix of Italian and English, trying to decide who was going to be the first to grab the microphone when the karaoke started. Y/N didn’t really feel like singing tonight, but she could already tell they’d drag her into it anyway. It was just what they did.

She didn’t notice him at first, not really. Harry was sitting at the bar with a group of friends, quietly observing the room as if he were trying to blend into the background. He didn’t want to stand out, not tonight. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized, so he’d come to this bar, hoping that people would be too caught up in their own lives to notice him. But as she passed him on her way to the table, something shifted. He couldn’t help but notice her, how her laugh rang out in the chaos of the bar, how her dark hair bounced with every step, how the look on her face was one of carefree confidence. There was something magnetic about her, something that drew his attention and held it even as he tried to look away.

He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about her presence that felt... familiar. Not in the sense of "I’ve seen her before," but more like she was the kind of person you were always meant to meet. And when their eyes met briefly, the world seemed to slow down, just for a second. A moment that didn’t mean much to anyone else but meant everything to him.

She didn’t acknowledge him at all. She was too busy catching up with her friends, laughing, exchanging stories, her eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that only came when you were in a foreign place, away from home, doing something you’d never thought you’d do.

But Harry couldn’t stop looking at her.

______________________________________________________________

The night dragged on with the usual chaos of a karaoke bar, people singing off-key, others trying too hard to impress, and some just there for the drinks and atmosphere. But as the first notes of Queen’s "Don’t Stop Me Now" blared through the speakers, Y/N jumped out of her seat like she was born for this moment. She had no shame, no hesitation. She was the kind of person who lived in the moment, the kind who threw herself into things without looking back. Her friends followed suit, their energy contagious, and soon, the entire bar was swept up in the beat.

Y/N wasn’t just singing, she was dancing, pulling people into the circle with her, encouraging everyone to join in. Her body moved with a kind of reckless abandon, like she was the only one in the world who mattered, like this moment, right now, was all there was. Harry’s eyes never left her, and neither did the grin that slowly spread across his face. She was a whirlwind of energy, laughter, and life.

The bartender, a grizzled older man with a thick accent, glanced over at Harry and his friends, raising an eyebrow. “What a character, huh?” he muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a smile.

“Yeah," Harry replied, his voice quiet but amused. "A character."

______________________________________________________________

When the song ended, the energy in the room didn’t dip, it only grew stronger. People were still clapping, laughing, and shouting as Y/N made her way back to the bar, her cheeks flushed from the dance, her breath still coming in short bursts from the exertion. She walked past Harry again, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume—a soft, floral scent that seemed to hang in the air long after she’d moved on.

He didn’t know what possessed him, but he couldn’t let it go. He stood up and walked towards her, his steps deliberate, each one bringing him closer to the girl who had somehow captured his attention without even trying.

"Hey," he said when he reached her. His voice was low, but it carried an ease to it. “You’ve got some serious skills on that mic."

Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to place him, then shrugged. “I’ve been practicing my rockstar moves for years.” She shot him a grin, the kind that told him she wasn’t taking him too seriously. She was fun, she was playful, and he could already tell she had a sharp wit. “But thanks, I guess.”

Harry laughed, leaning casually against the bar. “I’m Harry, by the way. I know this might sound weird, but you kind of just... owned that performance.”

Her eyes flicked to his, and for the first time, she seemed to really register who he was. Not just some random guy in a bar, but the Harry Styles, or at least, that was what he thought she was thinking.

But all she said was, “Well, I’m Y/N, and if you’re expecting me to serenade you, you’ve got the wrong idea. I only do public performances for my friends.”

There was a challenge in her voice, a spark in her eyes, and Harry found himself leaning in, intrigued by this girl who seemed to have no interest in fame or recognition, who was just... herself.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” he replied with a grin. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing more.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, you’ll have to catch me on a better night, Harry.”

“I think tonight’s pretty great,” he said, his smile widening.

She didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to look him over—really look at him, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’re one of those people who likes to keep a low profile, aren’t you?” she said, the corner of her lips curling up just slightly.

“Something like that,” he replied, shifting slightly. “And you?”

She snorted, a playful sound that caught him off guard. “I’m not trying to keep a low profile. I just... don’t care what people think.”

Harry chuckled, his gaze softening. “I think I can respect that.”

Y/N leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Good. Because if you ever want a proper performance, you’ll have to catch me when I’m not surrounded by my loud, obnoxious friends.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said, his voice low, teasing. "But for tonight, I’m more than happy to just watch."

And for the rest of the night, that’s exactly what he did, watched as she danced, sang, and lived in a way that made everything around her fade into the background.

It wasn’t just her energy or her confidence that captivated him. It was the fact that she didn’t need anyone else’s approval, that she could exist in the world as herself, unapologetically, without a care.

And Harry realized, as he watched her go back to her friends, laughing and shouting, that he hadn’t felt this intrigued by anyone in a long time.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the performance after all. Maybe it was about the person. 

And maybe, just maybe, it was about time for him to stop watching from the sidelines.

______________________________________________________________

The night wore on in a haze of laughter and neon lights, the kind of night that didn’t feel real until the morning after. Harry stayed close, never quite hovering but always within reach. Occasionally, Y/N’s eyes would find his across the room, once during a particularly ridiculous rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer,” another when she was taking a sip of her drink and caught him smiling at her like he’d never seen anything quite like her before.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself enjoy being seen.

It wasn’t until her friends began gathering their things that Y/N realized how late it had gotten. The bar had thinned out, and the cool Roman night pressed in through the open door, carrying the scent of the Tiber and distant music from another street. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, her voice was hoarse from singing, and her feet ached in the best way.

She stepped outside with her friends, the group spilling into the quiet street like kids leaving a school dance. Some were headed to a club, others were calling cabs or figuring out the late-night bus schedule. Y/N pulled her phone out to check the time just as a voice called from behind.

“Hey, Y/N.”

She turned, expecting one of her friends—but it was Harry, hands in his jacket pockets, hair a bit tousled by the breeze.

“You walking back?” he asked.

“Yeah, I live just a few blocks that way.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said simply.

She hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright.”

They walked side by side down a narrow street lit by antique lamps, the stones underfoot uneven and slippery in places. It was quiet now, the noise of the bar a distant echo, replaced by the soft hum of the city at rest.

“You always like this?” Harry asked after a stretch of silence.

Y/N glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know… fearless. Like nothing can touch you.”

She laughed under her breath. “That’s just a good performance. Truth is, I barely know what I’m doing most of the time. I’m constantly second-guessing everything.”

He looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his expression. “You hide it well.”

“That’s the trick,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Fake it until you start to believe it yourself.”

Harry smiled. “That’s fair. But still… it suits you. That boldness. That energy.”

Y/N tilted her head, a little amused, a little unsure. “Are you always this poetic, or is it just the Italian air?”

He laughed. “Maybe a bit of both.”

They reached her street, a quiet stretch flanked by old apartment buildings with wooden shutters and ivy crawling up the sides. Alice paused at her door, turning to face him.

“Well, this is me,” she said softly.

Harry nodded, but he didn’t step back. “You’ve made tonight feel... different. Good different.”

She looked at him for a long second. “You’re not bad company yourself.”

There was a pause—a charged moment where neither of them moved, where the possibilities of the night hovered between them like a held breath.

“Would it be too much if I asked to see you again?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Y/N smiled slowly, her eyes meeting his. “You already have. But if you’re asking if you can be part of the next performance...”

He leaned in, the space between them narrowing. “Only if you promise I won’t have to sing.”

She chuckled. “No promises.”

And then, before either of them could talk themselves out of it, she leaned in and kissed him. Soft and brief, more like a question than a statement—but it was enough to make Harry forget every reason he’d had for hiding that night.

When she pulled away, she said, “Good night, Harry,” and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

He stood there for a moment, lips still tingling, heart beating in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years.

Rome had a way of sneaking up on you.

And so did she.

[birdieistheewordie]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ welcome to birdie’s blurbs ☁︎｡⋆

hihi hello! i'm bird or birdie (she/they) :3

i wrote a "book" (and by book i mean a shittily written wattpad fanfiction) when i was fourteen and have painfully blocked ever since BUT i never lost the passion, so, here i am forcing myself to write now that im not cursed with the demons of being 14-17.

i love emotion, desire, cherries, and characters that feel a little too real. i write soft-smut and the occasional filthy one-shot. expect original characters, chaos, random themes, a whole lot of harry styles and probably too much energy put into this.

i love making friends and trying to figure out how to use this website!! come say hi or drop your recs! <333

im excited to share the jumbles of words in my head, thanks for stopping by 💗🐰🌻🍒